


The Game

by egretudo



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adult Content, Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confident Cullen Rutherford, Control Issues, Cullen Smut, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Dream Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Dom/sub, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Masturbation, Orgasm Control, POV Cullen Rutherford, Past Rape/Non-con, Playful Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Frustration, Trauma, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egretudo/pseuds/egretudo
Summary: The burgeoning relationship between Cullen Rutherford and Eve Trevelyan has plateaued. Haunted by terrible dreams, Cullen fears they may accurately reflect a terrible future that should come to pass if he escalates his affections. Frustrated by need, Eve hatches a plan to play a game with Cullen. A game that she prays they both will win
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford & Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Mage Inquisitor & Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	1. Kissing

**Author's Note:**

> I replayed DAI recently and became intensely frustrated at how slowly Cullen & Trev's relationship was inching along. I must have yanked him out to the battlements to make out twenty times before we were finally able to progress the relationship. My frustration became this little fic in which a reason for the snail pace is offered, and it is resolved in the best way I can think of. ;)
> 
> We start with a little set-up and Dorian giving Eve a much-needed pep talk.
> 
> I've never really written smut before, so please forgive me if it's a little bumpy. NSFW warnings begin at the next chapter.

Kissing. So much kissing. In the weeks since they returned from Adamant, her lips were constantly swollen. “Looks like you tried to drink out of the bee jar,” Sera had said teased her at the tavern last night. Every time the wind blew in the keep, her cheeks tingled with a slight sting, having been roughed up by the Commander’s ever-present evening stubble. So much kissing. Nearly every night. More kissing. Three months of this blissful torture.

Eve was so damn tired of kissing.

Though her personality was a bit coarse, Eve knew she was in possession of a few feminine charms. Her long white curls, dark blue eyes and delicate features had never failed to attract attention from the boys at the Ostwick Circle, whether she was interested in doing so or not. And after escaping the circle, as an apostate she had frequently escaped difficult situations just by batting her eyelashes prettily.

But still, conjuring all of the wiles at her disposal, she had been unable to move the earnest Commander past lengthy kissing sessions. At first, it was intoxicating. And then it was sweet. And now, it was starting to get frustrating. And that frustration was putting her in a horrible mood.

So she was sitting in the library at a very inconvenient early hour annoying Dorian. Who for his part, looked suitably bothered and clearly wished she’d leave him to his books.

“Did you see Bull last night?” Eve asked.

He didn’t bother to look up from the tome he was paging through. “Dear girl, I know you’re here to plunder me for gossip. And I cannot blame you. Anything concerning me is obviously utterly fascinating. But I’ll have you know that I am a gentlemen, and a gentlemen never reveals details of his casual liasons.”

“So there was a liason,” Eve said thirstily. “Tell me everything. Who made the first move? Is he gentle or rough? How do things work, exactly, between two men? Because I have trouble picturing it.”

Dorian snapped the book shut and sighed. “I suppose you want me to draw you a diagram?”

“That would be helpful, yes.” 

“Go find Cole then. I already drew one at his insistence. I’m sure he’ll share it with you.”

“You did?” she said, surprised.

“For all the good it did him. You know, I’m not sure that he actually has the same equipment people do? Have you ever known him to take nature breaks when we’re travelling?”

Eve tried to remember. “Now that you mention it, no. But he eats.”

“Which begs the question…” led Dorian.

“...where does it all go?” Eve completed with a giggle. 

“Knowing Cole, if he does produce excretions, he’s probably storing them up somewhere to make helpful aid of them. Perhaps he manures the gardens at night.”

Eve’s eyes flicked towards the gardens. “It’s a bit unsettling to think that my herbs may be thriving because of spirit dung.”

“Do let me know if they start to glow. Other than the deep mushrooms, that is.”

“Dorian, you’ve changed the subject.”

“Quite right, and expertly, I might add. And I will continue to do so.”

“Does Bull cuddle you afterwards? Is he the big spoon?”

At this, she caught a rare glimpse of a flush under Dorian’s mustache and she whooped. “He does, doesn’t he! Dorian is the little spoon!”

“Louder dear. I don’t think they heard you in Antiva. Besides, there is no shame in being a little spoon. Big spoons are for brutish thugs to ladel stew into their gaws. Little spoons are for refined delicacies of the most rare and valuable kind. Not that I would expect somebody with your table manners to understand the subtleties of cutlery.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re just still mad that I beat you in that belching contest last week.” 

“You and Varric alternating belching in my face was hardly what I would call a _contest_.”

“If you don’t play, you can’t win,” she said grinning, crossing her legs.

He let his book fall heavily on the table. “What is this really about anyway? Did I miss the memo on ‘torture Dorian mornings’? Or is it safer to say that a certain hunky ex-templar has failed to put out yet again?”

Her face fell. “Oh honey, I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

“Is there something wrong with me, Dorian?” 

“Many, many things,” he quipped. “Would you like a list?”

She reached forward and smacked him in the leg. “I mean it, Dorian. Am I...undesirable?”

He sighed and sat next to her on the arm of the chair and threaded an arm around her back, gripping her shoulder. “Just because I am immune to the charms of women does not mean I cannot appreciate their general aesthetic qualities. You, my dear, are supremely lovely. Nearly as lovely as me. And I am certain that our Commander desires you.”

She raised her head. “How do you know?”

“Because he looks at you like all the air has left the room and you are his only chance at breathing.”

“Mmmph,” she gritted out in frustration. She twisted her foot on the ground like she was crushing a bug. “It’s not enough apparently. We’re both going to suffocate at this rate.”

“Tell me what happened.” 

She threw her hands in the air and they fell to her lap. “The same thing that always does. We were in his office. We played chess. I wore my lowest cut tunic and brought a bottle of wine.”

“Which vintage?”

“Some Ferelden something.”

“Well we’ve definitely identified the problem. You can’t properly seduce anyone with that foul swill.”

She chuckled. “Cullen likes it, Dorian. We flirted. We kissed. And then we kissed more. And then we kissed a lot. And the moment things started to get good, he pulled back and wished me a good night. Dismissing me, basically.”

“And you’re _certain_ he is not a virgin.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. He’s sort of indicated that he has some experience in this arena.”

“Hmm,” said Dorian. “Well he’s been a warrior a long time. Perhaps there was some injury down there and he’s hideously deformed or something.”

Eve glared at him. “You sure know how to make a girl feel better, Pavus.”

“I’m merely working the problem. The problem being that he is not working you.”

“Are you providing solutions in order of least to most likely?”

Dorian grinned. “Possibly. Are you saying you don’t find the idea of an unspeakable horror between the Commander’s legs a likely one?”

She smiled slightly. “Not likely, no. I’ve seen his...I mean...through the outline of his breeches...”

“Inquisitor! I am shocked at your behavior. That you haven’t already described this to me in great detail is utterly unacceptable. In fact, draw me a diagram immediately. I’ll fetch a pen.” Dorian feigned getting up and Eve grabbed him and pulled him back down.

“Dorian…” she said with warning.

“Yes, yes. We can table the art project for another time. Let’s see, where were we? Listing reasons why the buff blond won’t put his perfectly normal-looking equipment to use. Old-fashioned, maybe? Perhaps he plans to marry you first? He _is_ very traditional and steadfast, our Commander.”

“Andraste’s flaming farts, I hope not. I’m not marrying anybody unless Corypheus is in the ground, and I cannot wait that long.” 

“I do so love it when you speak of Andraste in such a way. My fellow countrymen would adore you.”

“Dorian, this is not helping.”

“You know, my peach, we can sit here all morning and dream up a thousand reasons why Cullen is holding back, and still never be closer to an actual answer. At some point, you are going to have to _talk_ to him.”

She slid down in the chair and hid her face in her hands. “I can’t! What would I say? ‘Why won’t you pork me?’ It’s humiliating.”

“Well yes, it would be if you put it like that.”

“NOT. HELPING.” she said through gritted teeth. 

Dorian leaned his head back on the chair and the tone of his voice became softer. “You know, a very wise woman -- annoying -- but yes, also wise, encouraged me once to have a difficult conversation with somebody who had hurt me deeply. I didn’t want to either. But in the end, I was glad she urged me to do so. If I can speak to my father about his supremely misguided attempt to ‘convert’ me with blood magic, you can speak to Rutherford about what is preventing your relationship from moving forward.”

Her voice came out small. “I’m just so scared, Dorian. I have a bad feeling. I mean, what if it’s something awful?”

To her surprise, Dorian didn’t offer humor in response, but nodded thoughtfully. “It may be, dear heart. The Commander is not what I would call a complicated man, but he does have a complicated past. He was a Templar for a long time. You are a mage of no small talent, marked by additional mysterious magic. In another time not long ago, you two would not be possible. There are always complexities to unravel when breaking new ground.”

“Like you and Bull?”

Dorian smiled. “That would be telling. The point is, he cares for you. You care for him. It is a good foundation to have an honest conversation. A soft place to land. You can’t go too astray by just being honest about your needs. Or are you telling me that you can stare down a Pride Demon but you can’t have a difficult conversation with the man you love?”

Eve flushed, but she didn’t deny anything. Instead, she tipped her head to the side until it was resting on Dorian’s. “I...thank you, Dorian. You are a good friend.”

“I am your best friend,” he proclaimed noisily, squeezing her shoulders. “And once you’ve worked all of this out, you should know that I only expect you to name one of your children after me. Your firstborn, preferably. But not if it’s a girl. Dorian is simply too manly of a name.”

She gave him a withering look. “In the unlikely event that I ever have children, I may consider it.”

“You’re working this hard to get laid and you aren’t interested in procreating? Rutherford is going to be crestfallen.”

She looked frozen. “Do you think he wants kids?”

Dorian laughed. “Probably?” he said, and then saw her wince. “Maybe not,” he pivoted. “Heavens, I don’t know, don’t listen to me. But what does seem clear is that you two have many, many awkward conversations ahead of you. So you should probably hurry up and start having them.” 

She nodded and he could see some of her steely determination shine through her face, like she looked in the field when facing down the enemy. “Tonight, then,” she said. “Thanks.” She flashed him a grateful smile and then was suddenly gone, fade stepping out of the room.

“Good luck storming his castle!” he called to no one in particular. “Vishante kaffas,” he muttered under his breath. “These indignities would never happen in Tevinter.” And he smiled. Because he found that more and more he was becoming very fond of Southern indignities.


	2. Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for rape and sexual abuse. It gets very dark and NSFW here. Don't proceed if you're not ok with that!

The room is small and spartan. Wood bunks against the wall. The Templar seal above the hearth. Two armor stands, one chair, and no personal possessions. As he inspects each object, his eyes seem to slide from them. They are somehow oversaturated. Slippery. 

He hears muffled laughter and traipsing feet in the hallway. It’s past curfew and they are meant to be in bed, but this is the time the younger templars unwind and bond with each other, slipping into each other’s rooms, telling stories, playing cards, while the veterans look the other way. It is his favorite time of day. 

“I’ll clear out for a while. But if you miss watch, I’m not covering for you,” says his roommate Jasper, punching him playfully on the shoulder. 

“What?” Cullen says in confusion, brain thick with fog. 

“Have fun,” Jasper says winking. He turns transparent and walks straight through the oaken door. 

Before he has a chance to process his friend’s new ghostlike abilities, there is a knock at the door. 

He reaches for it, and it opens in advance of his hand arriving at the doorknob. He looks up and it is her. His love. Beauty incarnate. She smiles at him widely. “Inquisitor,” he says solemnly. “Come in.” 

She floats into the room and the door shuts silently behind her. “Can I get you some tea?” he offers, and begins to fumble with the teapot that appeared in his hand before he realizes he has no fire to heat the water on. 

“Allow me,” she murmurs, placing her hand on the side of the pot. It starts to whistle. He blanches. 

“You should not cast here,” he warns her. “The others would not understand.” 

“But you do?” she says, smirking. “There are other spells you may enjoy.” 

Her hand twists delicately and her clothes disappear. She is nude and shimmering in the candlelight. 

“Well…” Cullen stammers. “That’s a neat trick.” 

Next thing he knows, they are squeezed onto the bottom bunk. His clothes hurriedly evaporate and she is covering him with her body, hungrily pushing her lips against his. 

She presses ephemeral kisses into his ears, his neck, his chest, his stomach. Her mouth is everywhere at once. His breath hitches. His pulse rises. She leans down, her white hair tumbling around her neck, and takes him into her mouth. His back arches. His head is thrown back. It is bliss and rapture and he is lost to it. 

And it is not enough. He wants her. Reaches for her. Pulls her back up towards him. She releases him from her mouth and slithers slowly up his chest. Her eyes flash purple. She leans in to kiss him and lightning pours from her throat. His lips open to protest and the lightning jumps into his throat, searing it and sending him twitching in an excruciating, jerky dance. 

She mounts him and leans back, twisting her hands, and an arc of lightning pours down from the sky, striking him in the chest. The pain is excruciating. He vaguely smells burning flesh. It is he who is burning. In blistering agony. 

Knowing what he will see, he looks up. She is still astride him, her long white curls framing a face that is twisted. Unrecognizable. The face of an abomination with the hair and body of his heart’s desire. 

He hears shouting in the hallways. Terrified screams of pain and death and dismemberment. He knows his friends outside are being ripped limb from limb, their skin peeled from their faces and hands, made to eat their own innards. 

It is happening again. He can never stop it. 

He feels the fury invade his body, a runaway storm of hatred and repulsion. It builds in him until he screams. It is a high, broken sound that shakes the entire room. It enshrouds him in impotent rage. 

All he can feel is a desire to punish. To inflict as much harm as he can. But he is trapped. He has no weapon and no way to stop the slaughter. 

And his dick is as hard as a rock. 

The abomination gyrating on him laughs, its face a putrid mess of ground meat slithering with burrowing worms. This cannot continue. It cannot. He must regain his power somehow. 

Hands badly singed with black marks, he forces himself to reach up, and with all of his strength, he clutches wildly at the abomination’s throat. It is surprised, and he uses that surprise to pull a leg over it and flip it below him. Keeping his hands on its neck, it begins to struggle underneath him, writhing without air. He laughs. The sound does not make sense, but it bubbles forth and gains momentum. He feels something perversely akin to joy as he watches the abomination struggle for life. 

Not loosening his chokehold, he plunges his cock into the body’s wet folds. The abomination seems to enjoy this, so he punches it in the face and thrusts again, as hard as he can, intending to cause pain. It works and the abomination tries to claw away from him. The thrust is so hard, it hurts him as well but he welcomes the feeling. He finds a rhythm. He gouges his straining fingers into its neck tissue while leveling the most punishing thrusts he can muster. 

Soon it ceases struggling and its body is limp. He continues to thrust, eyes shut tight, grunting and groaning with the exertion. He decides to look at its face again, hoping to see the life ebbing from it as he crests his release. And when he does, it is Eve. 

Her eyes are wide and bulging. The word “no” is frozen on her lips. Her hands are held out in a defensive posture. Her skin is tinged blue. Purple marks stamp her throat. 

Unable to stop himself, he plunges into her one last time and braces himself for his just reward. 

* * *

Cullen awoke screaming.

Breathing hard, he centered himself by staring at the dawn sky through the hole in his roof. He was practiced and efficient at realizing he was no longer in a dream. But no amount of practice made him any better at facing their contents.

The fucking fade. The source of all problems. Sometimes he wished he could make himself Tranquil.

He inspected the bed. He had not soiled the sheets this time, but he was so painfully close to the edge it would not take more than a squeeze. He would not give himself the satisfaction. Better to ache with pressure in his balls all day than to derive a moment of pleasure from that horror. He welcomed the punishment. It felt inadequate.

He sprang from the bed, unwilling to spend a second longer contemplating the ugliness of his sleeping hours. The air was bracingly cold and a small dusting of snow covered the back part of his room by the foot of the bed. The chill was welcome. He went to his water basin and poured the entire contents over his head. It was freezing, barely liquid, and his body was wracked with shivering. So very welcome indeed.

Over the years, Cullen had found nothing quite like the predictability of routine to shift himself away from dark thoughts. Routine gave him a constant to cling to. No matter how mired his mind was in otherworldly terror, his body could have a solid footing in reality. So he clung to his routines like a lifeline.

Relieving his bladder first. Then push-ups. Then a quick battle with his hair before he dressed and slid down the ladder to put on his armor. Morning drills with his soldiers brought the pleasure of pushing himself and the subsequent exhaustion. 

In Haven, he’d gone directly from drills to the war room, but Josephine had pulled him aside discreetly one morning and suggested that perhaps their morning meeting would be more pleasant if he bathed prior to their meetings. He’d resisted, claiming there wasn’t time for such frivolities when they were at war. But Josephine mentioned she’d seen the Inquisitor wrinkle her nose at the last meeting, and he’d immediately yielded. So now his daily routine brought him here, to the bathhouse, to deal with the annoying process of stripping his armor and stripping himself of odors.

He did not relish it. Sitting in the bath idly gave him too much time to think. He slipped into the water and hurriedly started soaping up.

“What did that soap do to you to deserve such harsh treatment, Curly?” came a gravelly voice from across the pool.

Cullen paused and looked across to see a dwarf’s head, barely visible above the water line. The pools in this place were not made for dwarves, he supposed. “Morning, Varric,” he grumbled.

“Morning to you too, Commander.” Varric seemed to take in Cullen’s appearance. “Rough night?”

Did he look that bad? He wondered. “I’m fine,” he said before continuing his assault on the soap.

“Sure you are. No one said you weren’t,” responded Varric. Varric swam across the pool and positioned himself at the other corner. He was a remarkably graceful swimmer, Cullen noted vaguely. 

Settling in, Varric continued. “You know Curly, I have bad dreams sometimes. Hawke too. What the three of us saw in Kirkwall...I just don’t think people’s brains know what to do with things like that.”

Cullen was taken aback, but didn’t pause. Damned Varric. Why did he have to be so good at reading people? He did not want to engage in this conversation. He knew it would be rude to not respond, but he still did not. 

Mercilessly, Varric kept talking. “I know you have your whole thing going on. The stoic thing. And it works for you, mostly. You’re very contained. Your shit doesn’t leak out onto everybody else, and I admire you for that. But sometimes, it’s nice to let your shit leak just a little bit. It relieves the pressure of keeping it all pent up and locked inside.”

Cullen sighed. Varric couldn’t understand. Not really. _I regularly have dreams about raping the woman I love_ was a problem that was above pretty much everybody’s pay grade. 

“My..._shit_...is fine, Varric. Thanks.”

“As you say, Curly. I’m just saying it couldn’t hurt to loosen up with friends once in a while. Friends who would understand. Hawke and I are going to be at the Herald’s Rest tonight if you need an ear.”

Cullen was somewhat touched, despite himself. He had never been particularly close with Hawke, but they certainly had some shared history. The offer meant a lot. He paused in his washing. “I...appreciate that offer Varric. I really do. And another time, I may take you up on it. It’s just that in this particular case, there is one specific person I need to talk this out with.”

“Ahhh,” said Varric knowingly. “Should have figured this was something to do with her Inquisitorialyness.”

Cullen gave him an eyebrow. “Is that really common knowledge at this point?”

“Well, you have been making out on the battlements quite often.”

_Note to self. Find somewhere more private to kiss Eve._

“Whatever is going on with you, just spit it out and tell her. Our Herald is a pretty understanding person.” 

“I know that, Varric. She has demonstrated that on more than one occasion,” he said thinking of her patience with him as he battled his lyrium addiction. If that had been the only issue, it would have been easier. He just had too many damn ghosts. Who would put up with a haunted house when they just wanted the picket fence?

“Good. Then you two will talk. Problem solved.” Varric spied the tight look on Cullen’s face. “Or problem not solved? It’s not that simple?”

Cullen shook his head slightly and sighed. “I just...sometimes I wonder if there are just some things that are too broken to mend.” He saw the look on Varric’s face and immediately wished he could take it back. He wasn’t up for the incoming pep talk nor did he have time. 

“I’m late for the war room meeting,” he said hurriedly, jumping out of the water. The resulting wave crested over Varric’s head and the dwarf was briefly immersed.

He dressed himself furiously, hands flying, then turned to leave. “You’re not too broken, Curly,” a voice called after him.

He didn’t respond and made his way to the war room. Of course Varric would say that. It was easy for him to do so. But Varric didn’t really know him. Not really. He hadn’t seen Cullen’s fingers twitching with the desire to strangle a female charge as she practiced Chantry-approved offensive spells in the wake of Kinloch. He hadn’t seen Cullen’s search of the Circle libraries to see if any scholars had studied how to recover from being in thrall to a desire demon. He hadn’t seen Cullen’s face when he realized the suicide rate afterwards was so high, there was no one left to study.

He hadn’t heard Cullen’s sobs the first time he’d tried to initiate a physical relationship with a woman in Kirkwall. He hadn’t watched Cullen don disguises to hire women at the Blooming Rose, having more sessions end in failure than success. He hadn’t seen Cullen harm a woman in a panicked flashback he’d been triggered into. And he certainly did not know the level of control Cullen had to assume in his sexual encounters to feel safe.

Control. It was the one thing he had found that worked. When his sexual partner was willing to follow orders and do exactly as he said, he’d found a path through it. He’d met a woman who was a favorite of the local guardsmen. She enthusiastically submitted to him. The first few times, she’d allowed him to tie her up. It soothed him to have her helpless. He was able to perform. Eventually he did not need the ties anymore, but he still required the complete obedience. 

And then there were the dreams.

Eve was his equal. She was precious to him. He could never ask these degrading things of her. He would rather condemn himself to a life of celibacy.

Nothing about a physical relationship with him was normal. And it was possible it would never be.

Eve deserved better.

Eve.

She was coming from the undercroft at the same time he had halfway crossed the floor of the great hall. Her white hair was pulled into a messy knot atop her head, her cheeks were flushed, and her black leathers were somehow dirty already. She spotted him immediately and walked towards him, a teasing tongue caught in between her teeth. He felt his insides melt into liquid.

“Good morning,” she said brightly. “I cannot wait to show you what Dagna is up to down there.”

“Something with the potential to destroy us all, I assume?” he said grinning.

She laughed. And his heart flip-flopped in his chest. Every time she laughed at something he said, it felt like the world froze and his chest failed to draw air. And he could do nothing except watch her rapturously until she was done.

“She’d probably say there was only a very small possibility of that,” Eve said. “Come on, we’re late and Josephine is already cross with me.” They fell into step next to each other.

“What did you do to anger Josephine?” he asked curiously.

Her mouth twisted into a slight frown. “I’m blowing off some Nevarran nobility tonight because...Cullen, we need to have a conversation. And I was hoping this evening worked for you?”

His chest clenched. “Certainly,” he said.

This was to be the end then. It was pure foolishness to think that he could have this. To have her. To think the nightmares might fade. To think that he might regain control. He should have let her go weeks ago but he was too damn selfish. He wanted just a few more stolen moments before this bliss ended for good.

She looked at him like she could read some of his darker thoughts. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just something I wanted to talk to you about.”

He sighed. “I...There are some matters that I should address with you also. So yes. Tonight.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but nodded her head in that imperious way of hers. She reached up and lightly touched his shoulder with her glowing hand as he reached for the War Room door. The green light reflected off his armor and bounced all around them in the hallway. 

“Looking forward to it,” she breathed, offering him a smile. He forced a smile back. It was easy to start one looking at her. It was harder to keep it, knowing what was coming. She breezed past him into the War Room before his face fell.


	3. Playing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The objective of the game is simple. You win when you make me come.”

He tried and failed to distract himself with paperwork while he awaited her arrival. His eyes had passed over the same sentence a dozen times with no comprehension of what it read. There was no room for thoughts in his mind other than the one that wondered what life would be like after tonight, when his claim on Eve was forfeit.

He wouldn’t stop loving her, that was for certain. And he would stay in the Inquisition. Fight for her. Protect her. Give his own life for hers if necessary. But could he stand it if she took up with someone else?

Part of him wanted her to be happy. She deserved to have what he couldn’t give her. She deserved everything. But picturing her with someone else was unbearable. Being touched by someone else. Kissing someone else. Who would it be? Some rich noble? The Iron Bull? That damned smug elf whose eyes followed her everywhere? It should be him. Rage swelled in his chest and he found himself swinging his fist into the hard wood of his desk.

“Cullen?” said a familiar voice in the doorway.

“Eve. Come in. I was just…” he floundered. She always seemed to enter when his pain was at a peak.

She sauntered to his side and took a peek at what he was reading. “You were just feeling intensely frustrated by...a report itemizing our herb stores?” She looked at him with amusement.

“Something like that,” he muttered in embarrassment. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you are here.”

She smiled up at him. “Me too. Sorry it took so long.”

“I know the importance of our work. You never have to apologize to me,” he said, threading a hand through her white curls. Impulsively, he placed the other hand at the base of her neck, drew her to him, and leaned down to kiss her. He kissed her hard, and then soft. Fast and then slow. He teased her with his tongue and nipped at her lips. He kissed her every way he could think of and tried to burn the feeling of them all into their mutual memory. _Don't forget me,_ he entreated with his lips.

He felt the twin voices rise in him again. They always came together. One that told him she was his salvation, and one that laughed hysterically at this notion and insisted he would only disappoint her. Perhaps even destroy her.

_You are a danger to her_, it whispered. _How many of her kind have you made tranquil? Incapable of love? How many of her kind have you killed?_

_I am not that man anymore_, he would counter.

_Lie to yourself all you want, but we know the truth,_ it would hiss. _You are still that same, scared templar boy. So terrified of demons that you would do anything to a mage to avoid meeting one._

_I will never hurt her. I would die first. I am in control of this,_ he thought, desperately trying to push the voice out of his head.

But images came instead. Images of his dreams. Of Eve lying below him, blue and cold under his hands. Images that rang of truth.

And then her fingers were at his trousers. Teasing the edges and starting to dip down. His body tensed. He backed away a step but she came for him again, even more directly this time, placing her hand straight on the bulge at his center. He froze. Gently, he reached down and removed it. “I want to,” he said, his voice tight. “But I can’t.” 

She looked devastated. He felt devastated. This was misery itself. 

“Why?” she asked softly. 

He entertained making up an excuse. Something to delay the inevitable. Tell her he was waiting for marriage or something. Anything but the truth. The moment that she knew, that she really saw who he was, what he was capable of, that he would lose her forever. 

But he looked down and saw her beautiful face pointed up at him. So trusting and open. He remembered how she supported him through his worst days of lyrium withdrawals. He remembered how instantly she forgave his furious outbursts at her when she formed an alliance with the mages. She'd given him so much. It wasn’t fair to make her wait like this, without knowing. He owed her an explanation, even if it meant losing her. Resigned, he let out the breath he’d been holding and reached for her hand. He tugged her close and wrapped his arms around her. If these were to be his last moments with her, he was going to revel in her nearness, her warmth and her smell. She grinned and they held each other a moment.

“In Kinloch Hold, I was held in thrall by a desire demon. For nearly a week.” He heard his voice speaking, quietly, almost before he realized he’d started. He felt disconnected from it, like he was floating above his body as it spoke for him.

He told her everything. How the demon tortured him with Amell’s face. How unstable he was afterwards. How he’d harmed mages. How he’d harmed women he’d been with. How he’d found a path back with absolute control. How he’d met her, kissed her, and started having the most horrific dreams. How she looked when she died at his hands. All of his greatest shames were laid bare. His soul purged until it was empty and shaking.

She listened quietly, unmoving. And when she was certain he was done, she leaned back and gently touched his hair. “Cullen. You’ve been through so much pain. I am so sorry.”

Her expression of sympathy for him was almost unbearable. He closed his eyes against it. He felt rotted and wrong. Sympathy was the last thing he deserved.

“So you see now. Why we can’t. Why the danger to you is too much.”

“No.” The word in her mouth was solid.

He threw his head back in confusion. “No?” 

“I see that we have some things to work through. I see some problems to solve. But this isn’t insurmountable. We can figure this out.”

He laughed bitterly. “I don’t think you grasp the full scope of the problem, then.”

“No. I get it. You don’t think we can have sex without you harming me. But the real problem is that you don’t have enough faith in yourself. Or in us.”

He frowned. “This isn’t a matter of faith. It’s just the reality of the situation.”

She looked at him sideways. “What did you think would happen when you told me all of this? Did you think I would walk out on you? Is that why you waited so long?”

He paused, abashed, then nodded. 

“Like I said. Not enough faith in us. Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I care enough about you to stay? Even if we could never have a physical relationship?”

The thought stunned him. Indeed, he had never considered that. Who would stay interminably in a sexless relationship, especially somebody as young and desirable as Eve? It was madness. But was she saying she would consider it? It seemed too good to be true. She didn’t know what she was signing up for.

“I would never ask that of you,” he said.

“That’s not entirely your decision to make,” she said. “Let me ask you this. Do you want to? Do you want me?”

His eyes locked onto hers. If nothing else, she should know the truth of this. “Yes. Of course I do. More than anything, Eve. But…”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Forget buts. If you want it, we’ll figure it out. Just like we did with your lyrium withdrawal. It’s just a matter of time, patience, and a little creative problem solving. And speaking of, I actually have some ideas.”

His head was swirling. He had braced himself for her judgment. He had prepared himself for her departure. But instead, she had already bolted through acceptance and was racing forward, blazing trails he hadn’t even thought to walk. It was dizzying and he was racing to catch up. 

Was wanting something all that was required for it to eventually happen? It was a seductive idea, but the voices in his head kept shrieking that it was delusion. 

“It sounds as if we have two separate issues. The first is that when we do this, you are going to need total control. To counter the control that was denied to you by the demon. Control over magic. Control over the situation. Is that right?”

To have her lay this so plain was even harder than having told her the story. He could feel heat creeping into his cheeks and up around his ears. As always, she understood better than he thought she would. Her prescience and ability to read people was one of the things that made her a stellar leader. And for once, he wished she couldn’t see right through him. Was she able to guess at his first tentative forays with women at the Blooming Rose as well? Where through miserable trial and error he worked out that dominating an encounter prevented him from having an attack of panic during the act? His soul swelled with shame at the thought. 

She was waiting for a response. He managed a small nod of acknowledgement.

“And the second issue -- you are afraid that if you are granted complete control that you will harm me. Possibly in instinctual reaction to me using my magic. Because that is what happens in your dreams. Does that cover it? That is the paradox we are dealing with here? You must have control, but you fear you will wield it to my detriment?”

He gulped, his saliva feeling too thick for his throat to handle. That was basically true, even if the reality was far more macabre. He nodded again.

She started pacing, eyes darting and gently chewing on her bottom lip as if she was working something out. He had seen her look this way a hundred times at the war table as she tried to balance seemingly contradictory options out. And very often, she came up with uniquely creative solutions. He felt something like hope start to burn in his chest, but very swiftly tamped it down. His monstrousness wasn’t some diplomatic conundrum for her to solve. It was divine punishment. A taunt from the Maker for his past. To dangle perfection in front of him and make it nearly achievable except for the ugly scars carved on his soul.

But then he saw her swing up on her toes, like she often did before proposing a new idea. And his heart thrummed anew, forfeiting sense.

“I have an idea,” she said tentatively. “Something that might work to help us through this. Do you trust me?”

He laughed despite himself. “Trusting you is not the problem.”

She walked slowly towards him and threaded her arms back around his shoulders. “I mean, will you try something with me? I promise, there will be rules. Rules to keep us both safe. And you can stop at any time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Depends on what you have in mind,” he said cautiously.

“First. We will declare this room a ‘no magic’ zone. I will not cast here. Ever. Not even if Corypheus himself bursts through the door.”

“I rather hope if he does that you would defend yourself.” Cullen responded dryly.

“I’m serious here, Cullen. Do you trust me not to cast?”

“I do. It’s just...it’s not the core problem. I can feel your mana. Even when you’re not using it.”

She lurched back, stunned. “You can feel my mana?”

He nodded. “The lyrium administered to us as Templars gives us that ability. My sense of it has dimmed significantly since I stopped taking it, but there is enough left in my body that I can still sense you.”

“What does it feel like?” she wondered.

“It’s an energetic humming. Like getting too close to lightning. But beyond that, each mage feels slightly different. Vivienne’s hum is icy, like a cold ocean wave. Solas feels like a vast, overgrown forest. Dorian feels like...eating spicy food.”

She barked out a laugh at that. “I cannot wait to tell him that.” 

“Please don’t,” he groaned. “I’ll never hear the end of it.”

She spied a spot on the desk and picked at it with her finger. “And what do I feel like?”

“Summer,” he said instantly. “Warmth. Beauty. Comfort.” _Home_, he thought. “I can sense you coming from thirty feet away.”

She pushed him playfully. “That’s why I can never sneak up on you? Why my pranks with Sera never work? You ass! Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

He laughed and shrugged. “It’s a carefully guarded Templar secret. Although, come to think of it - you probably should have been briefed on that ability given that you are now facing them in the field.” His brow furrowed and he turned to his desk. “I wonder what other Templar traits we have failed to educate you on.”

“No,” she said stopping him. “I am not losing you to work right now. We are going to finish this conversation.” She pointed at the anchor. “This. Can you sense this?”

“No,” he said curiously, “And I’ve often wondered why not. It is magic. It is connected to the Fade. But it does not feel like mages do. I cannot track it. Sometimes the sight of it is...disconcerting.”

He could see her wheels turning again as she tapped her lower lip in thought.. Maker, he loved her intellect. Her appetite for problem solving was endless. No obstacle was too immense. Perhaps not even this one?

“Five minutes.” she announced suddenly. “I need five minutes. I am going to leave, and come right back, and you are not going to go anywhere or do anything or start any paperwork. Just sit here. Breathe. Wait. Pause. Can you promise me that?”

He was bewildered at this new development. “Where are you going?”

“Please Cullen, just do this for me.” she begged, already slipping towards the door.

“Alright,” he said resigned. She was already sprinting into the snowy night at the first syllable. 

He sat there and looked at the candles flicker. What was her plan? He realized that he should be feeling quite on edge right now. Nothing was likely to break this stalemate and everything was likely to end in disaster. Eve’s naivety and unbridled optimism was most likely to be his undoing and the end of their ill-fated relationship. But he couldn’t ask her to keep going on like this. Something had to break sometime. And he found himself quite resigned to whatever was going to happen. If there was a way, she was going to be the one to find it. And if there wasn’t, well, he just prayed that she wouldn’t hate him for it.

It hadn’t been two minutes when the door banged open and a frigid Eve leapt through it. “Maker, it’s cold out there!” she complained, slamming the door shut, latching it, and shaking well-camouflaged snowflakes from her white mane of hair.

“You were fast,” Cullen observed. 

“I’d barely gotten to the base of the steps when Cole appeared and gave me exactly what I was trying to fetch from my room,” she grinned. “Sometimes he can be quite helpful.”

Cullen looked at her in confusion. Something was different. It was as if he was looking at a two dimensional portrait of Eve. “I didn’t feel you coming!” he said with no small amount of alarm. “I don’t sense you at all.”

“Exactly,” she said grinning and then showed him what was in her hands. A glove, and an amulet. She took the amulet and began to tie it around her neck. “This little darling is an artifact that we found in the Forbidden Oasis. It contains an anti-magic ward in it. It suppresses all magic within a certain radius, not unlike what a templar can do.” She swayed a bit on her feet. “Woo! And it makes me a little dizzy.”

Cullen was up to stabilize her instantly. “Are you okay? Is this safe?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a second to adjust.” 

“I don’t recall reading about this _artifact_ in your report.” he said a bit sternly.

“Yeah well, I may have forgotten to write it up,” she said, a guilty look on her face.

“Eve…” he said in warning.

“Cullen, please. An amulet like this is dangerous for mages. It’s dangerous for me. If the templars knew such a thing were possible, wouldn’t they introduce it into permanent use if the circles are ever restored?”

Cullen was quiet with rage for a moment, trying not to say something he would regret. “Something like this would provide a better option than tranquility in the case of a dangerous mage, surely. How could you not offer it for study, at the very least?”

“I brought it back, Cullen. I could have destroyed it.” she said defiantly. “I thought it might be useful to leash Alexius or somebody who has definitively used their magic for ill. But I have no desire to allow good mages to be prevented from using their magic to aid Thedas.”

His mouth felt dry. “I am disappointed that you felt you could not trust _me_ with this.” 

She turned to him, her eyes pleading. “I’m trusting you now. This amulet, it could be a way to get us through this. You can’t sense me. When I’m wearing it, you can stop seeing me as a mage. And just see me as a woman.”

Ah. That was her plan. To cut herself off from one of the things that was uniquely her, to make it easier for him. He felt shame flood through him again.

“Can we table the discussion of the amulet’s long-term application? And just think about what it may mean, for us? For tonight?” Her hands pulled at his shirt, entreatingly.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But we are going to talk about this later. And it may not be a pleasant conversation.”

Her relief was evident. “I would be disappointed if it was, Commander. I deserve every bit of your ire.”

Ugh, said his head in a Cassandra-like voice. She was absolutely impossible sometimes. 

She held up the next item in her hands. One white fingerless glove. She slid it onto her hand with the anchor and wiggled her fingers in front of him. No green light bled through. “Second problem, solved.” 

He reached out and laced his fingers through her extended hand. “Eve. I appreciate all of this effort that you’ve gone through, on my behalf. On our behalf. I truly do. But this doesn’t really change…”

“Nope!” she interrupted cheerily. “You don’t get to do that until you’ve heard my entire plan.”

“There’s more?” he asked, alarmed. Maker. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. All of this work to compensate for his inadequacy was humiliating.

“Yes. Come here.” She directed him towards the two upholstered high-back chairs they often sat in to play chess. She shimmied them out from behind the table so they were facing each other in the middle of the room.

“Sit,” she instructed. “We’re going to play a game.”

“We’re playing chess?” he murmured confusedly. 

“No. This is a new game. I think you’ll like it.”

“Eve,” he said, meaning it to sound like a warning, and instead coming out like fear.

She lifted a hand to his chest, palming his heart. “Cullen. It’s going to be okay. Remember what you promised. Trust me. This will work.” He warred with himself for a moment. He didn’t really believe whatever she had in mind would work. But he also knew that he didn’t have any better ideas. Or ideas at all, for that matter. He was far too selfish to let her go. So he could not deny her a chance of her own making. He ghosted his hand over hers, squeezing his acquiescence, and sat in the chair.

She stood in front of him, dressed in the all black, butter-soft leathers she preferred to wear around the hold, that made her white hair and skin look brilliantly glowing by contrast. Tonight, she also wore a white satin sash through her belt loops which tied on her hip and trailed down the side of her leg. It was this she began to untie and pull free. 

Was she undressing? Cullen’s brow furrowed and he reached out to grab her hands. 

“What are you doing?”

She batted his hands away. “Don’t worry, I just need this,” she said as she freed the sash and held it up to him triumphantly. “Put your arms on the armrests.” 

He looked at her and did not move, his face blank and impassive. “Please, Cullen,” she entreated. “Trust.” Grumbling, he placed his arms on the armrests of the chair and she immediately got to work wrapping his arms to the chair and securing the soft white sash with a simple bow. “Tada!” she said quietly.

He chuckled. The sash was ridiculously loose. “You realize that I could break through this in a half second, right?”

“I’m counting on it,” she said to his surprise. She moved towards him and gently, reverently kissed his forehead. The quality of her voice changed and she spoke to him softly. “You’re not a prisoner Cullen. You are free. You can escape that bond at any time. It’s just there to remind you.”

“Of what?” he said, suddenly curious.

“That you are not allowed to touch me,” she said. She took two steps backwards so she was just out of reach.

“I thought we were trying to move towards more touching. This seems rather counter-productive,” he complained.

“As I said, we are going to play a little game, Cullen.”

“And I think it’s well past time to explain the rules to me, _Eve_.” he replied pointedly

“Please hear me out entirely before you object, okay? Will you agree to that? And then if you don’t want to, we can forget all of this.”

That was fair. “I agree,” he said, still feeling ridiculous tied to the chair.

Her eyes danced in the candlelight and she gave him a slow, sly smile. This was a smile he had not seen on her before. It was downright mischievous. Wanting. It sent a sharp current straight to his groin and he felt a tug of desire despite himself. Despite everything that had happened this evening. Despite the fact that this would all end in darkness.

“The objective of the game is simple. You win when you make me come.”

_Maker, help him_. He started to sputter his objection, but she held a finger to her mouth to remind him that he had promised to let her finish.

“The rules are simple. You may not touch me at any time. But you are in control here. I will obey any command you give me. If you break your bonds, I will leave before you can get to me. To win the game, you must remain in them. Prove to yourself that you can exert self-control where I am concerned.”

She winked at him. Minx. “Do you wish to play?”

Oh he wanted to play, there was no doubt of that. He also wanted to rip away this damnable sash, tie her hands behind her back with it and take her furiously against the wall. He felt red anger and desire rise in him in equal measure. 

He tried to lower his blood and think through his impulses. Could what Eve was offering be a path through this? She was giving him a chance to test his restraint, while simultaneously putting him in charge of the situation. No magic would accidentally trigger him. She was leaving herself defenseless and vulnerable. Potential prey to a predator that may accidentally consume her. But maybe? Maybe he could try? 

He cursed himself. This was not what their love affair should look like. This perverted game. The inherent risks. He wanted to worship her body, mind and soul as she should be worshiped. Not castrate her magic and embrace a twisted version of what their first encounter should be.

Mired in confusion and self-loathing, he slowly shook his head to try to clear it. She noticed. “Too much?” she asked gently. “It’s okay if it is.”

He looked at her, eyes harsh and angry. “You deserve normal. Romance. Seduction. You deserve more than this.” 

She looked back at him, eyes shining with so much care it put him to shame. “We have an entire lifetime for normal. For all of the things you said. We’ll give each other that later. Let’s just focus on the now.”

An entire lifetime. She said that. Whether she meant to or not, she was telling him that he wasn’t just a dalliance. A project. A broken thing to fix. She...wanted a life together? It lit a bright hope in him that he’d dared not contemplate before. It steeled his resolve. He could try. 

“Okay, let’s play,” he said warily. 

She literally clapped her hands in excitement. “Come now, Commander, I don’t think it will be all that bad. You may even enjoy yourself,” she said smiling.

Perhaps he would. Perhaps this would be okay. He found himself smiling back, her enthusiasm contagious. “I should warn you,” he said in a teasing echo of their chess matches. “I play to win.” 

Her eyes narrowed at that, and her chest rose. Her tongue reached out to lick her top lip. She looked the same way she did after he’d thoroughly kissed her. “I am counting on that,” she said huskily.

They stood for a moment like that, taking each other in. Each second seemed to be stretching out into an endless moment until finally, she cocked her head at him and said “What shall I do first?”

Right. He had to tell her to do things. Maker’s breath. Of course he had a endlessly long list of things that he wanted to do to her, places he wanted to do her in, but this? He’d never thought about how to navigate this. But thankfully, he’d never had a nightmare about this either. He didn’t even think the desire demon could have conjured such a bizarre situation. This was new. And new was good.

He found his voice. “Would you turn in a circle?” It came out a little more strangled than he was hoping for. “Please?” he followed up lamely.

She smiled gently at him and began to sway lightly from side to side, her hips carving wide arcs as she turned. He gave himself permission to watch. To stare. To leer. In the way that was never appropriate at the war room table or in the training yards, where he had to pretend he was looking anywhere else. Now he soaked it in. He stared at the ample expanse of her hips. At the place they nipped into her narrow waist. At the shadow her breasts cast and the small valley between them. Her turn carried her away from him and his eyes fell on her ass. Those two perfectly formed globes that he had imagined picking her up by a thousand times. His mind immediately tried to picture what they would look like without those leathers. Until sudden realization hit him that if he played the game right, he wouldn’t have to wonder anymore.

Her languorous turn was nearly complete. “See anything you like?” she said prettily.

“Everything,” he replied honestly. 

“A promising start,” she grinned. “What now?”

Answers failed him. His mind was a blank. He tried to imagine what he would do to her next. Kiss her deeply probably, but that clearly could not be achieved under the current circumstances. Guess he would have to skip steps. 

“Can you...um...run your hands down the sides of your body a bit?” He cringed immediately. _Maker_, that sounded so lame.

“Like this?” she said, taking one of her hands, she started at her shoulder, and slowly skimmed it down the sides of her curves to her hips, then recreated the gesture on the other side. She was absolutely hypnotizing. He nodded. 

“Again.” he said, his voice coming out lower. “But this time, skim the sides of your breasts.”

She obeyed immediately, heat starting to rise in her eyes. When she reached the side of her breast, she slowed her hand and he drank it in. More. He wanted more.

“Now,” he said. “Across the front.” Her nipples had risen, now visible through her shirt and her breastband. Slowly, she drew both hands down the front of her chest, and when her fingers crested her buds, she let out a gasp. And it was this gasp that was Cullen’s undoing. It shot violently to Cullen’s groin and he was instantly, painfully hard. Desire for her burned away all of his doubts and worries about consequences. There was no turning back now.

“Remove your shirt,” he said. And he hardly recognized his own voice. It was the voice he commanded his soldiers with, but throaty and soft. 

Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them now and acknowledgement passed between them. These were uncharted waters for them both, with dangers lurking. Desire notwithstanding, they both knew the gravity of where this was headed. 

She toyed with the waistband of her shirt for one moment before sliding it in one fluid movement over her head. Her white hair came pouring out of its inky blackness like moonlight from the night sky. The amulet hung heavy around her neck, nestled in between her cleavage. She tugged the shirt over her gloved hand, careful to not unseat it. Delicately, she opened her fingers and let the shirt fall to the ground next to her. 

He wanted to look at her but he was also over eager. So desperate to see all of her. 

“Your leathers, remove them as well,” he said with that same foreign voice.

She gave him a look like he was being extremely naughty, but she said nothing, and leaned down to remove her boots. Kicking them aside noisily, she then hooked her fingers into her leathers and wriggled them down. Which took some doing as they were molded perfectly to her legs. He very much enjoyed the dance she had to do to get out of them.

Finally, she kicked them away as well, and stood before him in her smalls. Her hands fluttered around herself, unsure of what to do, first grasping her shoulders and then each other, clasped in front of her with adorable shyness. 

“Place your hands at your sides,” he said, trying to help. She shot him an embarrassed smile with a hint of gratitude.

She was more beautiful than he had even expected. Creamy expanses of skin pulled across voluptuous curves, decorated with flickering shadows from the firelight. “Would you turn for me again?” he asked.

She acquiesced and began her languid turn once more. “How many times am I to do this for you tonight?” she asked with a laugh in her voice.

Her joking manner triggered something in him. A base level need to reassert his control. “As many times as I say,” he spat in response. At that, she flinched, and her breath hitched. Shit. He had scared her. “I’m sorry, Eve.” he sputtered immediately. “I didn’t mean...I just got carried away for a moment.” 

She stopped to stare at him, clearly confused. “What did you think just happened there?” she asked. “What made you apologize?”

Also confused, he tried to backtrack. “You..flinched. You were scared. I was too aggressive.”

At that she chuckled softly. “That was no flinch, Cullen. I like your command voice. I was...turned on.” 

He was stunned. Could it be that she was enjoying this as much as he was? Did she like being told to do things? Could she actually be enjoying him having power over her? Barking orders at her? It had not occurred to him that she, the symbol of mage freedom, would have a part of her that enjoyed being told what to do. Enjoyed it a great deal, in fact, from what she was claiming.

“Apology rescinded then, I suppose?”

“Mm-hmm.” she hummed, restarting her turn. 

The misstep was immediately forgotten as he drank her in. Heavens, her body was crafted by the Maker himself. Smooth and lithe. Petite and strong. Carved and curved. He knew he needed to say something, but words were failing him.“You are exquisite,” he gutted out. 

She smiled in acknowledgement and flipped her hair to one side. “And what would you like to do to me?” she prompted.

“I want to drown in you,” he said without thinking.

Her face turned tender and she reached forward to stroke the side of his cheek. “We will drown in each other soon, my love.” My love, she called him. Her love. He tried to reach for her, and was met with resistance. He looked down in surprise. Right, the sash. The game. Right. And the objective was... Oh. Yes. Shit. He was losing. So damn distracted he was forgetting to even play. 

He found a renewed determination. He was going to win this damned game and then he was going to ravage her. Show her how much he loved her. How beautiful she was. How she was the new meaning of his existence.

He looked back up at her, and he found that his brain had helpfully assembled all of the makings of a plan. 

She was still over him, stroking his stubble with a longing look in her eyes, like she wanted to extract the hurt and pain from him. No, this would not do.

“Sit in the chair,” he said with his command voice again. Surprise showed clearly on her face, but she complied, lounging back into the high-back chair she had set up across from him. Seeing her sprawled out there, head back, her white curls spread out behind her, breasts bound by just a thin slip of fabric, creamy skin contrasted against the deep navy velvet of the chair -- this was all immensely distracting. But he focused. The plan. 

“Before we begin,” he found himself saying, “I need to ask you a question. Will you answer it honestly?”

She tilted her chin in assent, eyes curious.

“I need to know if...if you touch yourself. Do you know your body well?”

Shock registered on her face, and her cheeks and chest turned a very flattering shade of pink. She nodded meekly. An image of her climaxing under her sheets in her Skyhold suite invaded his head. He wondered if she thought of him. “Good,” he said with a wicked half-smile. “That will make these instructions easier.”

He saw her breath grow ragged with those words. He couldn’t believe what an effect he was having on her with just his voice.

“Massage your breasts,” he said with a low tone. “With both hands.” 

It was like she had been waiting for that instruction her entire life. She closed her eyes and threw her head back and immediately started kneading her breasts over her breastband, first cupping them from the bottom and pushing them up while slowly squeezing, then raking her fingers outwards towards the side, spreading them wide. He watched a few moments, envious.

“Does that feel good?” he asked quietly.

“Yesssss.” she hissed out.

“When something feels good, I want to hear you.” 

She began to make noises. Little mewling noises and low moans. Each and every one went straight to his groin. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who was turned on by a certain tone of voice. “Good girl,” he said. She whimpered in response.

“Pinch your nipples,” he ordered.

First she grazed her middle fingers over both nipples. She gasped and arched her back in response. Then with her right hand, she circled the nipple twice and reached in to pinch it with her thumb and forefinger. She cried out, and her thighs clenched together.

Andraste preserve him. He was throbbing now, his cock dripping into his trousers. She was every fantasy of his come true. Every nightmare made reality. A pornographic vision of hot desire.

“Now under your breastband,” he ordered. Her hands immediately moved underneath. Her pleasure was increased. But it was not enough. He couldn’t see. And he wanted to desperately.

“No. Take it off,” he breathed. “Quickly.”

She wasted no time. She reached behind herself and made quick work of the lacing and wriggled it over her head.

Her breasts hung heavy and luminous, the amulet bouncing between them. They were larger than he expected, clearly constricted for fighting with an overly tight breastband, the angry red lines of it still cut into her chest. They tilted upwards with delicate pink nubs that were reaching out, hard as rocks. “Sweet Maker,” he whispered. He started to reach out, felt a gentle tug of resistance, and remembered his hands were bound for a reason. “Please touch them for me,” he nearly begged.

She used her palms to lift them and then let them drop and jiggle. Then she did it again. Pure torture. Cullen found himself thrusting into the air in response. Shit. He had to control himself. She continued to rub, squeeze, and intermittently tear at her nipples, which led to the most beautiful music pouring from her throat.

If they did much more of this, he might die. What’s more, he might break his weak restraints and even weaker resolve and plunder her without any consideration for her well-being. The game had to be moved along, and quickly.

Eve was in a torturous agony of her own, head back, lips open, eyes shut, hands working at her breasts, thighs squeezing deliciously together pursuing whatever friction they could offer. And Cullen had a thought. It was a naughty thought. A counter-productive thought. He pushed it out of his mind. And then he couldn’t stop thinking about it. And then he gave it voice.

“Did I say you could squeeze your thighs together?”

She opened her eyes, surprised. “No, but…”

“But what?” he said, with a dangerous half-smile. “Who’s in command here?”

She smiled. “You are,” she whispered lustily. “Commander.”

Maker save him. “Open your legs,” he ordered.

She did so. Revealing an enormous wet spot that had soaked through her smalls and was starting to drip down her legs. It suddenly struck Cullen. She wanted him. She actually wanted him. She wasn’t just playing a game or healing a broken man. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Despite his enormous failings, despite the strangeness of this situation, she still wanted him.

“Maker’s Breath, Eve. Are you normally this wet?” he said in a strained voice. He had to know.

“Only where you’re involved,” she responded. It was the answer he needed.

“Remove them.” he said loudly, beside himself. She didn’t need to ask what. Lifting her hips from the chair, she slid her smalls off and let them fall to the floor.

He’d wondered long and hard at what color her hair might be down there, and he was surprised to find a mop of tight, white curls like her head, now wet and glistening with beads of her arousal. He felt like he had just been told the most precious secret in the world.

His inspection was interrupted when he caught sight of her face. A little wild and strained, practically begging him to let her continue.

“Cup yourself with your palm,” he said and her relief immediately shone through. She reached down with her hand that didn’t have the glove and gave herself much needed pressure. A ragged cry escaped her throat. She began moving her hand up and down, threading it through her white curls. That naughty voice whispered at him again.

“I didn’t tell you to move, Eve,” he said quietly. “Just cup.” She stopped her hand moving but was whimpering and lightly bucking. 

This was it. The most turned on Cullen had ever been. The heat in his groin could not get more intense. His desire was coiled in his belly more tightly than he thought possible, leaving him feeling vacuously empty and tortuously full at the same time. The feeling of power he had being able to make Eve stop herself, frustrate herself, was intoxicating. 

Then shame blew over him. Was he getting off on torturing her? Putting her through agony? How different was this from what he did in the Fade? Was he enjoying extending her pleasure, or depriving her of it? Was he that callous with her pleasure that he would rape her next? 

He could not deny that he enjoyed this power. It was like swimming through a lyrium pool with his mouth open, being lit up from the inside. But, was it dangerous?

He looked down at his hands. He wanted to break through the loose satin bow, of course. But he was not compelled to. The truth was, his control here was an illusion, as flimsy as this ill-tied sash. He could be given every measure of control over their lovemaking but she would always be the one who had all of the power over him. And strangely he did not want to resist that. 

He closed his eyes for a moment and focused, letting the waves of desire crash over him and sifting through the sands left in its wake. There was no ire there. No malice. No ill-intent. In fact, through the smokey haze of fire and arousal the likes of which he’d never felt before, he was able to pluck out a clear strand of care. A beacon, lit up brighter than the darkest parts of his mind, that he was incapable of losing sight of. 

And he realized. He loved her. He would put her first. He would always put her first. No temptation or desire would be able to swallow that imperative. His love for her was etched in light on his very soul and even the darkest thought could not dim it. Relief washed over him as he realized: he was incapable of ever harming her.

He opened his eyes and gave Eve her next instruction. “Eve, I want you to remove the amulet.”

She’d been gently humping her hand, but at this her eyes flew open and she started. “Cullen, no!”

He shook his head gently. “Tsk tsk tsk, am I in command here or not?”

“The amulet is part of the rules. It’s to keep us both safe.” Her hand flew up and clutched at it.

He had to make her understand. “My beautiful girl. Your plan has been brilliant up to this point. It’s working well. I’m doing well. Really well.”

“You are?” She didn’t look convinced.

He nodded, keeping contact with her eyes, so she could read his honesty. “I no longer believe I will hurt you. And I’d like to...finish the game being able to feel you.”

“Being able to feel my magic, you mean.”

He nodded, reading concern on her face. “This is wonderful, but it’s not a true test. I have..faith now that I will pass it. You’ve gotten us this far. Will you now trust me?”

Slowly she reached up and untied the amulet from behind her neck, then tossed it into the farthest corner of the room. Instantly he felt the warmth of her unique aura tickle the back of his mind. Bliss. “I still will not cast,” she said.

“I know,” he confirmed. Her face radiated concern. But he only knew one way to reassure her. And that was to win the game.

“Rub yourself,” he instructed. “Slowly.”

At this she mewed happily and snaked two fingers out to start rubbing slow circles just above her nub. He took note of their position. He watched her, losing his breath as the moments passed. She had slumped down in the chair. Her breathing sped up. Her eyelids were fluttering. She was making constant noises now. Little “ohs” or “mmmms” or grunts of tension and ecstatic struggle.

“More quickly, now.” he said, his mouth dry. Her hand sped up. Her cries sped up. 

“Use your other hand to play with your breasts,” he said, eyes not blinking. She complied immediately, reaching her other hand to grab one breast and then the other, this time wrenching them with force and gasping. 

Something was not right. It took him a minute to realize what it was, his brain suffering from a distinct lack of blood. The glove. It still covered the mark. Like it was something for her to be ashamed of. And he supposed she was, in her way. Like his trauma, the mark was the burden life had seen fit to impose on her. Her unwanted passenger. Her weight to bear. He could not let her continue to hide it. Not now, in this moment, with all of his shame exposed.

“Stop,” he said. And she did. Panting. Breasts heaving. Maker have mercy.

“Remove the glove,” he said.

This time, she didn’t argue. She ripped it off swiftly, and green light flickered in the dark room. 

“I want you to put one finger inside of yourself. Slowly.”

She met his eyes. And while their eyes locked, she pulsed the middle finger of her left hand inside. Green glinted in her folds. Her eyes rolled back.

“Pull it out,” he said in almost a whisper. She did, gasping, her finger shining and slick.

“I know you said that I can’t touch. But can I smell?”

At this, she smiled widely. The most blissful smile he’d yet seen on her face. She leaned forward and offered her hand a few inches from his nose. He leaned forward and inhaled deeply.

The Fade had been heavy on visuals and touch and very short on other senses. Noises were blurry echoes and smells were either foul or non-existent. If smells normally anchored him to reality, this one transported him to another plane. She smelled like...fuck...there was nothing to compare it to. Had he been offered all of the gold in the world, he could not have described the scent of her arousal. It was uniquely her. It was intoxication without inebriation, the song of lyrium without dependency, the sun without burning. It was a sacramental elixir from Andraste herself, made just for him, that would keep him alive if only he could lap it up every day for the rest of his life. 

He inhaled again and struggled against his weak bonds. “You smell..” There was no way to articulate it. “Gah! Maker I want to _taste_ you.” he shouted, frustrated.

She smiled and leaned back. “Not yet, my love.” 

He flailed. His cock bounced uselessly against his stomach, bucking into the air for friction and finding none. He wondered whether he could come without being touched. He wondered how long he would last inside her. He was mad with desire. He started to free his hands.

“You are so close to winning. Don’t give up now.” Her voice stilled him. Her eyes were glassy and her cheeks so pink as she brought the finger towards her mouth and closed her lips on it, sucking it down and cleaning it, cheeks hollow. Fuck. He was frozen. Riveted. Her lips made a loud popping sound as she removed it. “So very close. Seconds away, in fact.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed. He called on every bit of focus and training he had acquired as a templar. He found a center and tried to breathe. It wasn’t enough. He barked at her. “Right hand, clit. Left hand, two fingers inside fucking yourself. Quickly.”

She complied rapidly and blissfully, hungrily rubbing herself and slipping fingers in and out of herself, flickering green light as she did so. She was a vision. A temptress. A desire demon. And yet, she was his. His beating heart. His broken soul. His burgeoning hope. 

Her speed increased and her leg muscles were tightening and releasing frenetically. Her white hair tumbled over her breasts as they shuddered with every thrust of her fingers. Her face was tense and her eyes tightly closed. 

“Look at me,” he begged her. And she did. 

“Come for me,” he whispered. And she did. 

It was the noise that tore out of her that did it. That hungry, ravenous noise that made it clear that she had lost all control, that she was flung from the earth into the stars in rapid acceleration only to explode into a million pieces. It was that noise, and the eye contact with her, that tightened his groin to a limit he didn’t think was possible. Immersed in the sight and sounds of her release, he heaved a surprised shout and followed her over the edge, shooting wet strands towards his stomach.

They were both gripped in aftershocks, but their eyes never left each other. He watched her, rapt, as each additional tug spasmed her legs and flickered across her face. 

Finally, she spoke. “Did you…?” she asked in a quiet voice, looking at the wet spot on his trousers. 

He nodded, a bit embarrassed. Maker, he was ordering her to finger fuck herself a few moments ago. Why did he feel like an awkward school boy again? But she smiled so beautifully he forgot about it immediately. She bucked against her hand again and moaned. She was perfection. 

He had a thought.

“Can you...do that multiple times?” 

She licked her lips. “Easily.” 

He leaned forward and used his teeth to loosen the bow and freed his hands in an instant. Moving swiftly, he scooped up her warm, naked body and tossed her over his shoulder. She let out a whoop of surprise. “Hang on,” he murmured as he started to climb the ladder.

Cresting the top, he shifted her back into his arms and laid her down onto his bed, crawling over her.

“I take it you’re no longer worried about hurting me,” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

“No,” he said with a growl. 

“Good.” she said, opening her arms to him.


End file.
